Thursday, June 29, 2023, through Wednesday, July 5, 2023: The first thousand kilometers
Info:
The Alaska Highway, originally called the Alaska-Canada Military Highway or Alcan, begins at Mile 0 in Dawson Creek, British Columbia, and heads northwest through the Yukon Territory to Mile 1422 in Delta Junction, Alaska, where it officially ends, and on to Fairbanks, where the unofficial end is.
After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, the U.S. military assumed that Alaska could be a target for a Japanese invasion, making a road to Alaska a military necessity. U.S. President Roosevelt authorized construction in March 1942, and work began just five days later. Within nine months, the Alaska Highway was completed. 11,000 American soldiers and 16,000 civilians worked on it.
The route was planned along the existing airfields between Edmonton in Alberta and Fairbanks in Alaska. The Alcan Highway also followed existing paths, trails and rivers. Work began at both ends at the same time.
On September 24, 1942, the U.S. military teams met at Mile 588 on Contact Creek.
To be allowed to do the construction in Canada, the U.S. paid all the costs and officially turned the Alaska Highway over to the Canadian government in 1946. Many improvements were needed before the highway could become a public road in 1948. Several straightenings caused the route to be about 55 km shorter now than it was originally, so the historical mileage figures no longer match the actual ones.
Historic Mile 0 in Dawson Creek is a must for anyone who wants to drive the Alaska Highway.
Most famous between Dawson Creek and Whitehorse are Fort John, Fort Nelson (Mile 300, 454 km), Muncho Lake (Mile 456, 700 km), Liard River Hot Springs (Mile 477, 764 km) and Watson Lake (Mile 612, 980 km).
Diary:
From Prince George, Highway 97 took me to Dawson Creek. At the round about that represents the center of town there are Historic Mile 0 and the arch that symbolizes the beginning of the Alaska Highway. Both would be quite inconspicuous, if there weren’t tourists hanging around all the time. Fortunately, there is an extra access road with a huge parking lot. Selfies are taken, people hand each other their cameras, help others climb the stone monument, wait patiently until it’s their turn, and exchange the usual phrases with their colleagues. Are you coming from the north or going to the north? How was it?
I learned within five minutes from four different, totally reliable sources that I should never, ever drive the Top of the World Highway from Dawson Creek to Tok in Alaska in bad weather. So, if I absolutely fancy driving it, which I should think twice about, it should only be when it has been dry for at least a day.
Those who had returned displayed heroic behavior. They were the ones who had made it. The rest of us were the clueless ones. “How did you like Seward and Homer?”, I asked one of the highway heroes. A stutter was the answer. Didn’t quite get that far. Okay. How far? To Tok. Okay, that’s in Alaska, too. Just after the border. But I will be careful not to laugh about it. I am still in British Columbia. There is quite a bit of Yukon Territory ahead of me until Tok in Alaska. Who knows how far I’ll get?
Otherwise, Dawson Creek stands out for having nothing to offer. A typical Canadian small town without anything. Gas stations of course, you are at the beginning of the Alaska Highway. And campsites for the people who need another day to find the courage to finally go, like me. A mini museum. Restaurants. Stores. A closed visitor center. And that was it.
No sooner had I parked Annie Way in reverse in the back-in spot at the campground (there are pull-thrus for the big ones and back-ins for the little ones) than there was a woman whose pickup was parked diagonally behind me. At first, this visit went a little too fast for me. When you arrive, there’s a little something to do. But then I just sat her down by my table (every place has a table with uncomfortable benches) and let her talk. Only after a few minutes did I notice that I was the one telling, and she was asking the questions. When I turned the tables, I learned an interesting life story. The lady who will soon celebrate her 80th birthday and still lives in the camper eight months out of the year is author Joei Carlton Hossack, who has published 25 books. Successfully, as it seemed, because she talked about the tours across the country with readings and autograph sessions, where she was always on the road with the camper.
Another stroke of luck. I bought two books from her and am looking forward to reading them. But even more precious were the hours we spent sitting and talking in the shade of a cottonwood poplar tree on the uncomfortable table-bench structure. What a personality! Thank you, Joei, and good luck. You are such an inspiring person!
I had reserved a small campsite at Pink Mountain for the next day. It was once again in the middle of nowhere, and since Annie Way and I were alone at the campground and were harassed by a squirrel, while I was a little panicked if there might not be a bear making its rounds, I hardly went for a walk either. A leisurely afternoon, and since the internet was working (!), I finally got a little further with my travel blog.
Because I am often asked about the fires: Fire is a necessity in the boreal forests here and is necessary for renewal and biodiversity. In a forest that has not burned for 100 to 150 years, the conifers (especially Spruce, a very narrow, tall species of fir) crowd out all other plants because they take away their light. Thus, the animals no longer find anything to eat and migrate away. A healthy forest consists of deciduous trees (aspens, willows, etc.) and conifers (black spruce, white spruce, firs and pines; however, the pines have the same problem as the firs in Europe with the bark beetle, they suffer from drought and higher temperatures). If the forest consists of many tree species, there is also a wide variety of plants on the ground, because enough light gets through – and thus food for the animals. Some trees cannot reproduce at all without fire, redwood, for example.
The out-of-control fires in northern Alberta and Nova Scotia are a product of climate change due to the droughts. This year, nine million hectares of forest have already been burned in Canada – eleven times the average for the past decade. The annual record set in 1989 has already been surpassed, and the wildfire season continues for at least three more months. 155,000 people have had to leave their homes so far. The smoke traveled to the U.S. and even as far as Europe.
The fires are not only a result of climate change, they are exacerbating it. Per hectare burned, the boreal forest releases ten to twenty times more CO2 than other ecosystems.
So far, I have been lucky enough never to be where the fire was in a country that is as big as all of Europe put together and has just over four times as many people as Austria. I didn’t get anything from the smoke either. Except for once, but that was a very small area.
I think it’s time to stop talking about climate change and start talking about climate catastrophe.
Fort Nelson was the next stop. A delightful little museum, well worth a visit if you’re willing to engage with a smorgasbord of unrelated things. Now I know that the cougar and the mountain lion and what we call “Puma” in German are one and the same animal. And how big such a cougar is! My goodness, that should be taken seriously!
Otherwise, Fort Nelson stands out for having nothing to offer. A typical Canadian small town without anything. Two gas stations, of course, since we are on the Alaska Highway. And a campground for people passing through, like me. An oversized visitor center where they can only recommend you the museum. Restaurants. Stores. And that was it. (Does this remind us of anything now?).
Almost. On July 1, the Hand Games Championships were held there. This is a First Nation game of drumming – very very loud drumming – and passing something on the sly. The opposing team has to guess who has the thing right now.
The Games ended shortly after 10 pm. Outside it was still as bright as day. Afterwards there was dancing. Eight men drummed and sang while countless people walked in a circle with tap steps in a loose single file, then joined hands and moved their arms according to a certain system until the whole thing started all over again. Old and young joined in, and as a spectator I had the feeling that this was about community, about connection. As Ed Jensen had already said in Jasper: It’s all about connection. Connection or connectedness. With all beings and with the earth. So the philosophy of the Indigenous shows even in their dances. And even if the noise level could definitely keep up with the ten o’clock break of a certain Linz middle school (there, however, they don’t need drums for that), this connection and bond could be felt. A nice feeling.
The next day I washed Annie Way with a pressure washer. This does not mean that she was clean afterwards. But cleaner than before.
I also wanted to wash the bed linen. Unfortunately, after five minutes the power went out for several hours, which put a bit of a damper on my plans for the day. But it did not matter. Who does not like to take care of the laundry from 2 pm to 10 pm? I also had to put the sheets on the bed – which is quite an acrobatic feat in Annie Way. Fortunately, I have two sets of bed linen with me.
In the morning I looked at my cell phone, because the brightness outside says nothing about what time it is – so far north. And behold – Internet! So the power problem was solved. I hopped out of bed (to be honest, it’s more like a 4.5-foot plop on Annie Way’s floor), grabbed three new loonies – as the one-dollar coins are called because they have a loon, or heron, on them – and did the laundry. By the time I got out of the shower, it was done, and after breakfast, the dryer was finished, too. I only wondered briefly about the yolk-yellow sock that came out with it, but since it was my size, I took it. The two blue socks, which are also not mine, may be happy to have a new team member.
A couple from New Jersey who were also headed to Alaska had recommended Lake Muncho, which was on the way to Liard River Hot Springs, where I planned to spend the next two days.
The drive there was … indescribable. And really in such a way that I am at a loss for words. Also, the Alaska Highway turned out to be a very tame highway. Even in the mountains, you feel more like you’re in Mühlviertel in Austria, because the valleys are so wide that there are hardly any sharp turns. For Annie Way, who had learned to drive in Mühlviertel, the easiest exercise. Sometimes it’s quite a bit uphill or downhill, occasionally alternating in such short intervals that it’s really fun.
And I could not help but being amazed.
A moose (about as tall as Annie Way at her 2.65 m) did us the honor, a bear cub, several Mountain Sheep, and all sorts of deer. Unfortunately no bison. Or should I say no bison as usual? However, there were so many warning signs posted regarding bison that I began to suspect they were intentionally running away before we arrived.
I didn’t get on quickly because I stopped at every opportunity to look at the area.
As so often lately, the “Playlist Annie Way” was to be heard, 80 songs that my colleagues had put together for me for my retirement. I sing to it. If you want to scare away bears with songs, you have to practice.
As I drove along Lake Muncho, I suddenly knew I wanted to stay here. I asked at one of the campsites, and sure enough, shortly thereafter Annie Way was parked overlooking the lake. I spent a lot of time at the lake, whose intense green and the surrounding mountains I could not get enough of. A longer hike along the shore I made with my trekking sandals, and once again I had left my Bear Bell hanging in Annie Way, because I wanted to walk only a bit anyway …
Two hours later, I abruptly turned around when I saw something big and black.
Never again without Bear Bell and Bear Spray, I promised myself for the umpteenth time. How can one who is so afraid of bears be so careless?
And never again with the trekking sandals in stony terrain. I would have liked to spare myself the blister on the sole of my foot.
The next day began with an intelligence test in the shower. It took me two loonies to figure out how this thing worked. But then I showered successfully. And decided to stay one more day at Lake Muncho.
Showering was pointless, by the way, because two hours later I was lying comfortably in the hot water of Liard Hot Springs in the middle of the forest, which I had reached on a trail where it was said that there were particularly many bears.
Longingly, I thought of my Bear Bell, hanging handy as ever in its place in Annie Way, and my Bear Spray, standing handy as ever in its place in Annie Way.
At Hot Springs, I also met the couple from New Jersey again who had recommended Lake Muncho to me. They told of the countless bison they had seen on the way here.
Well, in my case: as always, no bison.
The Hot Springs are natural pools of water in the middle of the forest, with the Alpha Pool being 50°C, far too hot to be in. The second pool, located further away from the spring, has a pleasant temperature.
There are so-called “Hanging Gardens” at Hot Springs, created by the limestone deposits of the waterfall, where it actually looks like someone planted them – so many flowers bloom there!
On the way back there were again some Mountain Sheep on the road. And as always, no bison.
That’s what I thought. But there was suddenly something big, dark, and it wasn’t a bear. My first bison stood comfortably on the side of the road and ate.
And right after that my second bison. And a baby bison. And my fourth bison. And …
I stopped counting at number 30.
So there are bison in Canada after all!
Back at Lake Muncho, I briefly struggled with my fate that I really had to leave the next day.
And there lay this kayak. The lake was mirror smooth, there was absolutely no wind. When, if not now?
After thirty kayak-free years, I couldn’t even remember how to hold the paddle. Embarrassing.
A hundred excuses why it was completely impossible to pull this kayak into the water, sit in it and paddle off. When I finally mustered the courage, the sun was setting, the wind had kicked up, and the lake was no longer glassy. Ha! It was not to be! But next time, if the opportunity arises, then immediately. For sure! (I really am a coward at the bottom of my heart).
Watson Lake was on the agenda for the next day. There is the Sign Post Forest. Sometime in the last millennium, tourists from all over the world started screwing signs on posts in a forest, either place-name signs (some of which look like they were stolen), number boards, homemade signs – anything goes. Meanwhile, the number is over 100,000 and offers a colorful picture. And has itself become an attraction for tourists.
I searched for over an hour for the Leonding town sign that I wanted to photograph because I happen to know who mounted it. I found Linz, St. Pölten, Ottensheim, Goldwörth, Salzburg, Ebensee, Maria Zell and countless other Austrian places. But no Leonding. Which would have been a coincidence given the plethora of signs. I even went back in the evening. A man sitting on a bench said to me, “Incredible, that a lot of garbage can be that beautiful.” Yes. From that point of view, he was right. Unfortunately, Leonding did not show up again.
In the afternoon I went to the Northern Lights Center, where you can learn a lot about the Aurora Borealis, the northern lights. Benedict Cumberbatch agonized through a series of technical explanations as the narrator. I rarely talk about chemical and physical processes inside the sun and their effects on the earth. And even less often do I do it in English. Fortunately, technical terms are usually international, so then it wasn’t that difficult to understand everything once I got into Mr. Cumberbatch’s Shakespearean English. Abstract: Every eleven years there are particularly strong solar flares and thus also particularly strong northern lights. And every 150 years the eruptions are so strong that, although they are not dangerous for us humans, they affect everything electrical. Aircraft, for example. And any kind of modern communication. The last time this happened was in 1859. From this point of view, the 150-year cycle is a little late.
Conclusion of the first days on the Alaska Highway:
If you can drive in the Mühlviertel, you can also drive the 980 km from Dawson Creek to Watson Lake. There is forest, interrupted by mountains, rivers and lakes. Only the animals are a little different. Black bears on the side of the road, for example, and lots of them. And no cows behind electric pasture fences, but bison on and off the road. Instead of deer Elks, Moose, Cariboo and Mountain Sheep.
The most dangerous animals are, as always, squirrels and chipmunks. They scurry across the road just ahead of the car, and if you don’t avoid them, you’d run them over. Since Annie Way’s Emergency Brake Assistant only responds to larger animals, we had to do some daring evasive maneuvers only to see the little animal in the rearview mirror happily hopping along. So far, squirrels and chipmunks have been my favorite animals. The other day, a Canadian said to me, “They are a pest!” I’m beginning to be inclined to agree with his opinion.
Oh yes, the people I meet. There are many who are on the road for months, almost all retired. Some live in their mobile home or caravan. “We live where we park,” a couple explained to me the other day. And then comes one who is traveling alone and whose van has got such strange license plates. Sometimes I get the feeling that these long-term campers get bored over time. They are mostly couples, but in the long run, two is not a very high number. So they pounce on everything that somehow offers them new material for conversation, when the hundredth lake and the five-thousandth bear can no longer do so. That would be Annie Way and me, when Annie Way expertly parks in reverse and I jump (more like plop) out of the driver’s seat. Sometimes it almost gets a little too much for me. Listening to other people’s life stories three times a day is nice, and saying regretful “oh”s about five big problems is nice, too, but …
But I guess that’s the price I pay for also meeting totally interesting people who inspire me, enrich me and broaden my horizons. Like Gary, Joei, Anshu and Rachna for example. Still, they could never replace my son and my friends. I have very many reasons to return home at the end of October. The most important are the people. I couldn’t imagine vanlife in the long run, even though I totally enjoy it now for a limited time.
Back to the Alaska Highway. As for the traffic … yes, there are cars and trucks coming towards us. One every ten minutes on average. And occasionally someone overtakes us. We drive rather slowly, not the prescribed 100 km/h, but mostly around 90 km/h, because I want to see the area and Annie Way needs less diesel.
Did I mention how beautiful the area is? That we don’t get on because I stop so often to enjoy everything in peace? I can’t tell you how many times I stood on a hill, looked around, and shook my head because it was incredible again. Simply breathtakingly beautiful.
This is not how I had imagined it all. Because I couldn’t have imagined that it would be so overwhelming.
